The Game

A Story by Abishai100

Can media-life 'cheer' offer a stranger form of 'premonitions' for capitalism-race 'chess' intuitions, drawing a game participant/volunteer into a 'world' of (dark) bureaucracy?

A 'bright' adaptation of The Game (David Fincher).

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I was in New Orleans for Mardi-Gras looking at rumored world-imported rare/special treasures (diamonds) for my ambitious Ion company when I was approached by a stranger who claimed he knew me from college and insisted I try my hand at a special cyber-secret 'game' club with a motorcycle online net-race challenge which would draw me into some real/actual/masked intrigue adventure in the streets. I didn't believe him, because, well, I simply wasn't that fantasy-rich for Mardi Gras or social media (hmmm).

STRANGER: It's a game...for real-life intrigue...and it comes to you, alive!

ME: Well, I was honestly dealing with actual bureaucracy-life capitalism chess, man.

STRANGER: That's why you're ideal...a game-system will be delivered to your hotel!

ME: I simply plug-in and wait for some adventure-choice reality-feeling to appear.

STRANGER: I won't tell you more...but it will change your view of capitalism (IQ).

ME: Geez (video-games).

The stranger wasn't lying. There I was online immersed in this video-game 'universe' of incomplete-distances readings for transit/tourism 'chess' or fantasy rather with an online (secret!) motorcycle-club race-net for video-game IQ when two (actual) sharp-bikes pulled up to the lot outside my hotel-room window, in helmet/masks and holding what seemed to be silencer-guns. I suddenly felt I was being 'lured' into some Game-of-Death hell-trap for some fortune-businessman exploitation and eventual theft or even bloody-murder, which wouldn't offer any consumerism high-wire for social media pokes (wow).

STRANGER: Remember, man, it's the Game (motorcycle-race!) that's the clue for IQ.

ME: So, I'm to immerse in some high-road twist/turn balance IQ pre-deed for reality?

STRANGER: I can't tell you more, but the more you train/hone on the bikes, better!

ME: So it behooves me to take the video-game and the reality-adventure seriously?

STRANGER: How else can one choreograph hand-eye-body-brain balance for streets?

ME: Sounds half-dangerous (wow).

STRANGER: No one who completes the Game ever ends up telling secrets/complaints.

ME: Okay (fine).

I'd been enjoying some room-service ordered world-exchange 'reflection' culinary-treat soft/zesty (Indian) luchi-bread thanksgiving-diner plate chat(s) after my 3rd-circuit on the bike-race video-game immersion 'challenge' when the two 'gents' in helmets/masks wielding silencers appeared parked in front of my hotel-room. I became paranoid and decided to flee up the fire-escape onto the roof to try to call the police (some copter!) for help and hospitality-readings for sanity-restorations. I wanted out and back into my diner-table life (damn).

STRANGER: I wouldn't think to meet/greet you again, friend.

ME: I want out!

STRANGER: What's wrong...isn't it Realism for ya, friend?

ME: This is some horror-pirate con to extort businessmen for diamonds/cash.

STRANGER: Admit you're intrigued at your own chosen-adventure, friend.

ME: This is self-imposed psychological torture...like a Roman capitalism parody, devil!

STRANGER: I assure you...complete your labyrinth-run and return to your hotel/suite.

ME: Damn!

Would you believe I made it back to my room (securely) after fleeing and evading the two helmet/mask wearing 'gents' who'd been sent to surely scare the living-daylights out of me and locked my door and called the police and explained the entire 'conspiracy-scam' to terrorize businessman (perhaps for blackmail!), and the cops told me they'd heard of this 'Game' in the past, underground cult-clubs and extortion rings and that I should avoid contacting any 'agent' or 'claimed-member' of this dark-society (ever!). I told him I would surely do just that. Then, a gorgeous woman knocked on my door, dressed in a gorgeous Eastern sari-dress, claiming she'd been a Mardi-Gras cheerleader, sent by the Game 'association' to comfort me and entreat some love/romance to assure me that since I escaped the two 'assassins' in the New Orleans streets that I'd earned the prize-ending of the Game itself...an 'earned' blind-date (wow). However, she then whispered, "If you reveal this is a company ad for hyperbole, we'll resend some 'agents' for mind-delusion." Would you believe me if I told you I married this sari-lady, and I never looked back on the Game, and I even made her a special cyber-sari fashion model for my diamond-marketing bureaucracy work in Brussels? Was the Game something like Atlantis (for all)?